


Ruptures in time

by jbae654



Category: Bulma - Fandom, Dragon Ball, Dragonball Super, Vegebul - Fandom, Vegeta - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hope, Hurt, One Shot, Sobbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 01:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbae654/pseuds/jbae654
Summary: Nominated for the Prince and the Heiress community - Best of the undiscovered!Mirai Bulma gets a second shot at life (thanks to zen-chan) with her son Trunks after the ordeal with Zamasu is finally over.But before her and Trunks settle into their new timeline - courtesy of Whis - she gets to meet present day Vegeta for a fleeting moment. Reminding her of all that she has lost.Very angsty. Explores the manga Statement Future Trunks makes about Bulma wishing to travel back in time to meet Vegeta one more time.





	Ruptures in time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amazingmeplusone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazingmeplusone/gifts).



She was dead. Murdered by a lunatic hiding behind the face of her best friend. Her oldest friend. A man who had died years ago, slain by a simple virus she couldn't cure in time.

Followed by the death of a man she never fully got to know because she was robbed of time, didn't know it had been running out.

She had worked against time when trying to warn another her of the dangers and heartbreak ahead. Twice. In these endeavors she had succeeded. Twice.

In the end, like all of her friends, she had died before her time. Like _him._

With the only exception that now, she was back. Resurrected after the destruction of Black. Her world. Her universe.

Zen-chan, the king of all, had given her life as a favor to Goku for coming back for him. The Goku of another time, the timeline she saved. She almost laughed at the irony of it all. There was a timeline she saved, while her entire world had been erased, the afterlife that held _him_ forever lost, and now she was on her way to said happy timeline. In a machine she built.

The first thing she saw was the big yellow building and the lush gardens, and her heart ached in her chest. Never in her life would she have thought to see her home this peaceful again. The image she created from memories during dark and hopeless nights in the future had become reality. Someone else's reality.

Her shaky legs touched the ground and she was immensely thankful that Goku hurried of to find a Whiz? Whis? to do...she wasn't sure. She didn't care. It was too much. Sinking to her knees Bulma relished the lush green grass underneath her. The wind in her hair. The blue clear sky, and, _oh kami,_ the birds. The birds. They were singing. After years, _years_ , she was finally home. Her home, as it always should have been, as it always should have remained. Only it wasn't. This wasn't here home. And she couldn't stay.

As her vision blurred with tears she heard the voice of her son. Excited. Disbelieving. Of course, he didn't know yet. How could he, no one knew yet, not that there was anybody besides him. Before she could wipe the evidence of her emotions from her face his arms enveloped her. Strong and alive, squeezing the air right out of her lungs. Her eyes screwed shut tightly to prevent the treacherous tears from falling and she returned his embrace, with all her strength, explaining in short sentences how she had come to be here. They had lost everything. _Everyone_. But Trunks seemed to be elated at having her here with him, to start over as the small family of just two they had always been.

After long endless minutes they entangled from another, taking a deep calming breath she finally opened her eyes, things would be okay. They had each other. That's all she's ever needed.

But then her heart stopped, breath caught painfully in her chest, and reality suddenly appeared to fold in on itself. Blue met black across the span of time and even after all these years Bulma was unprepared for the painful emotions exploding in her chest.

His up-swept wild hair the same impossible black as his eyes. He had aged well, barely looking a day over 35, when her scientific brain knew he was much older than that now. Years of time and training had allowed his frame to fill out, perhaps even grow a few inches..? He looked impossibly tall. Maybe she had gotten shorter with age, maybe the stress of her life had caused her body to shrink a few inches while the luxuries of his had allowed him to grow. Most likely not only physically but also emotionally and mentally.

This man held her gaze, his eyes unwavering, his expression calm and collected. He was handsome, even more so than she remembered. And when his gaze flicked to the large deck behind her, her eyes following his gaze and landing on a lavender haired child, she knew he was also a man who had made a choice. A choice that, deep in her heart, she had always known he was capable of making.

Always observant Trunks gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, mumbling a few short words about going to see about a new home for them, before giving her a reassuring smile and leaving her behind to head inside. Bulma stood alone on the perfect lawn across from a perfect man that wasn't hers. In a seemingly perfect timeline and her heart broke. Fully realizing all that had truly been taken from her, all that she had truly lost, it was here now, before her very eyes, not an illusion created in her mind to survive another day. No, this was real, but _not hers_ and it hurt.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves her gaze flicked back to the the large deck just in time to see her son disappear inside with his younger counterpart. When she made her way across the grass Vegetas dark eyes never left her, his face still concealing any emotions, but his eyes warmer than Bulma could ever recall them to be.

Her gaze was focused on her shoes, which suddenly seem impossibly dirty, his gaze to intense for her to hold, when she finally utters the words she always wished she could have said to _him._

"I knew you had it in you, tough guy"

She heard something akin to a chuckle and when she lifted her eyes she is indescribably relieved to find the corner of his lip twitching in amusement. There is no contempt on his face, no snarl, no brutal cold remark. He just watches her, dark eyes drinking her in with what she - to her shock - can only describe as well concealed concern. He has indeed grown Bulma discerns and this final realization is _too_ much. Tears pool in her eyes, making her vision swim, before streaking down her face and nothing surprised her more when she suddenly finds herself embracing him.

It's not _him_. But it is as close as she will ever get. She needs to feel that he is real, that her mind is not playing tricks on her. Needs to smell him, remember how unforgiving hard Saiyan muscles are, how un-humanly warm he is, how wide his shoulders are, how _alive_ he is.

"I missed you. I missed you _so_ much! I know you are not him but _oh kami Vegeta_ i missed you!"

The words fall off her tongue, spoken like a sacred prayer, before her brain has even fully processed that she is indeed hugging him. Her face is wet with tears that won't stop falling, her frame shaking with each sob and she can't even bring herself to be ashamed for showing so much weakness in front of him, because this is real. And the realization that he has not pushed her off him strikes her only as a muffled, distant afterthought.

His frame is stiff and tense, but then he gradually relaxes. This is not _his_ Bulma, this woman is fragile not delicate, her skin much rougher, not as soft, her hair smells different and the lines on her forehead tell the story of how often she frowned in the past few years. _His_ Bulma is soft, and radiant, her skin impossibly bright and young, she has tiny lines around her eyes, reminding the word how often she laughs, there are no lines of worry on her face, and while her frame is small she has soft curves.

She is not dark and tough like the woman crying against his shoulder. But despite all the differences this woman _is_ Bulma nonetheless. Clinging to this realization he carefully places his hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades, where he can feel her heart hammering.

She is the woman of a son who he has brutally fought with during their year in the time chamber, the son who looked for a father and a role model in him long before his infant son ever could. She is the reason he had trained obsessively to beat Black. And now she was here, spreading snot all over his bodysuit. While he feels relieved beyond words he is uncomfortable with the sudden closeness. It is _too_ public. _Too_ unannounced. _Too_ emotional. _Too_ wet.

Bulma can feel him shifting his weight and realizes he is trying not to step away, suddenly self conscious about her actions she does him the favor of stepping away first. Trying to hide her now surely hideous cry face from this man who despises weakness. She feels old, unquestionably _his_ Bulma is still youthful and put together, pampering herself like she used to as a young adult.

"I'm sorry" she blurts, years of emotional pain and anguish clearly overwriting higher brain functions, "that was too sudden, I'm sure I don't even look like her."

She half turns away, wiping at her face furiously in an attempt to erase the tears, she can't believe she broke down like this. She can't believe she still wants too. There are too many things left unsaid and she is overcome with the urge to blurt them all out, her brain all but demanding her to say them, reminding her that she will never get a chance like this again. Risking a glance over her shoulder at him she drinks up his high cheekbones and sharp jawline, realizing that he has yet to say a word.

Silence enveloped them and she uses the time to calm her nerves, letting her gaze wander over the beautiful grounds of the compound. Her mother has outdone herself, the flowers are in full bloom and for a split second she believes she can even smell the chlorine of the pool being carried to her by the wind. Next to her Vegeta has his arms crossed over his chest, index finger softly thumping against his bicep, she can tell that he is eyeing her from his peripheral vision. He still isn't a man of many words, but the fact that he has remained here next to her speaks volumes about the process he has made over the years. She smiles at that, and once again she realizes that time isn't on her side, that _this_ Vegeta likely is even more comfortable and open with _his_ Bulma. Well, as open as any Vegeta can really get.

"You shouldn't worry, woman. You look like you always do."

His voice is deeper than she remembers, smooth, and she notices that his once strong extraterrestrial accent has softened. "Hideous."

At the unexpected jab her eyes snap up to meet his and the sparkles of amusement dancing in their depth nearly steals her breath again. His face is impassive but his eyes don't lie. They never have. Before she knows what's happening, her hands are on her hips, her head held high and with a sharp tongue she shoots back.

"I'm hardly hideous. Trunks is very handsome, he clearly got that from me!"

At that statement Vegeta puts his head in his neck and barks a laugh, the sound soaking into her very soul, sealing fissures and cracks left behind by an unforgiving and cold world, warming her to the very fibers of her being. The man next to her is amused, openly amused by what she said. This is not a devious and calculating laugh which always was the precursor for a venomous reply, no this is a laugh caused by genuine amusement. Bulma is so utterly blindsided by this realization that she does not see his next words coming.

"You did good with him."

For a second time since her arrival Bulma feels like reality is wrapping in on itself, the floor dropping out from underneath her. She has to swallow the disbelieving _'What?!'_ that reflexively threatens to leave her tongue. His face is serious now, but he does not meet her eyes. There is a faint red hue staining his cheeks and she knows that he had to force himself to utter those words.

"Th-..Thank you."

It feels small and inadequate in comparison to the weight of the compliment Vegeta has just given her, but her mouth is suddenly dry and her tongue heavy.

"A small miracle, given how much you likely coddled him."

" _What?!"_

This time she can't swallow the reflexive, disbelieving response. The gall of this man! Her hand immediately return to her hips, her stance widens, and her eyes narrow.

"Listen here Mister! Trunks was anything but coddled! It was hard, but I made it! I always do, I'm Bulma freaking Briefs for a reason so don't you dare stand here an-.."

Her tirade is cut short when she noticed his mouth pull into a smirk, he shifted his weight to fully regard her with those dark eyes. He was needling her, pushing buttons to get a rise out of her and thus effectively pulling her out of her dark thoughts filled with pain and regret that had flooded her the moment she had climbed out of the time machine. In his own forever strange Saiyan way he had just lightened her mood and reminded her of who she was. _Bulma freaking Briefs._ And despite how painful things got, she pushed passed them and moved forward. She had been given another chance at life with her, _their_ , son. Something she should be elated about.

Before she could finish her train of thought she noticed his eyes flicking behind her, posture returning to his perfect military straight back, only now allowing her to realize that he had actually somewhat relaxed in her company, they were about to have company. Turning around she sees her son accompanied by a strange blue creature, hair even wilder than Vegetas.

"Mother! Whis has found us a timeline! We can start over!"

Her sons excited voice is only overshadowed by the bright, hopeful look on his face. Whis gives her a long look and she has the unsettling feeling that , whoever this Whis is, does not agree with finding timelines for strays. She nods anyways, what else can she do? She knew that this could not be her home, it was never meant to be. The man behind her does belong to her, but it is another her entirely. Someone she is not familiar with and that, _deep down_ , she envies.

Gesturing towards the time machine Whis mentions that it is time to go, apparently the coordinates are already set, and _his_ Bulma is about to return from … she doesn't know. Wherever the other her is. Apparently it is not advisable for two Bulma's to meet. She gets the feeling that maybe Whis has a problem with time travel itself. Again, she nods. Smiling reassuringly at her excited son and the impossibly tall blue stranger behind him. Her gaze settles on the large yellow compound, she wish there was _enough time_ to take a peek inside. She wonders briefly if the walls are decorated with happy pictures telling the story of a life she never had. But once again time isn't on her side, it's running out and they have to leave.

She watches as Vegeta's fist settles against the palm of her sons open hand. They exchange a look and a nod, conveying more meaning than she can likely grasp and her son is off towards the small cockpit of the machine. This feels like an out of body experience, and she finds herself turning to the man she has lost, found, and is now losing _again_. Like water running through her fingers.

Against her will, despair bubbles up within her, it is time to go. She will not see him again. Not in this timeline, this life or the afterlife. The afterlife that held _her_ Vegeta is forever gone. Vanished without any trace that they ever even existed, struggled together, and ultimately lost. She hugs him again, in all likelihood against his wishes, making him feel uncomfortable with such a public display, that is, if the color of his ears is any indication. Sounding muffled and far of in the distance she hears that it is time to go, but she can't be bothered to hurry. Focusing instead on his smell, trying to burn it in her brain _forever_ , so wherever she ends up next, she can carry another piece of him with her.

The time machine hovers high above the ground and her hand is clamped over Trunks shoulder in a vice grip, anchoring her in reality, preventing her from fainting. She can only focus on the dark haired man on the ground below, lips still tingling from where they touch his cheek. He still gets incredibly flustered, and Bulma can't help but smile at that. The last thing she sees before this utopia of a timeline blinks out is a set of dark, burning eyes and the reassuring nod he gives her.

He has to wait in the shadows for a few minutes, despite having spent almost two hours in the car with her the harpy just can't seem to shut up. Chattering relentlessly about things so meaningless Vegeta fears his ears might start to bleed. He has never been more grateful when Goten and Trunks break a lamp, _finally_ separating the two women. Chichi offering to take care of it, leaving Bulma by herself in the Kitchen to check on some last details before the feast worthy of Saiyan royalty.

Doing a through Ki swipe, making sure they are truly alone, he approaches her. Her back is to him and his heart aches unreasonably hard in his chest when she relaxes into him as he embraces her from behind. He nuzzles the crock of her neck, promising himself that he will do everything, _anything,_ in his power to make sure she stays the carefree, radiant woman she is.

"Did you miss your beautiful wife?"

Her tone is a light and honeyed coo, and he has never been more thankful for her carefree attitude, looking to press his buttons at every turn. But he is _not_ about to tell her.

"Hardly. Just telling you to hurry with the food!"


End file.
